Mushrooms
by woodbyne
Summary: Matthew just wanted to relax after school. But someone's been watching him. Someone wants him. Forever. Rated for language, CanUK shipping, dark themes and fairies. Not the Disney kind.


**This goes against my rule of Never Post Anything Less Than One Thousand Words Long (I never read anything less than a thousand words, so I'm going by that write-what-you'd-read thing) as the fic itself is only 859 words long. Anyway. This was a little gift for my favourite Hamburger Helper, who likes the fae the same way I do; the way they're supposed to be. She also Rps a fantastic Arthur and is the reason I even like this pairing at all.**

It was a picture-perfect day, the sun was warm on the cotton of Matthew's tee-shirt and the soft grass was cool beneath his elbows as he lay on his stomach. The rustle of leaves through the trees carried the faintest sound of laughter and the scent of wild violets that must be growing somewhere nearby.

There was a fresh crop of mushrooms that had appeared since the last time he'd been here, arranged in a neat circle about two metres in diameter. Dark, damp earth clung to the creamy yellow caps, which turned themselves up into cups to hold last night's rain. This was the Canadian's favourite spot to come after school to be away from all the idiocy of his teenaged peers. It was peaceful here, and he could just think or sleep, whichever he fancied, and the grass wasn't going to judge him for being quiet.

Careful not to bruise the fleshy slivers, Matthew ran his fingertip gently along the gills on the underside of the nearest mushroom, and then around the lip of the bowl. He stopped when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. There was something directly in front of him and he hadn't even seen it coming up to him, he'd been so engrossed in the mushroom. Looking up, he came face to face with a man. He had pale skin, blond hair and eyes the same green as the grass beneath them.

With a strangled yelp, the teenager threw himself backwards to get away from the strange man who had appeared right in front of his nose. Looking around frantically, there was no one there. Matthew's head whipped back and forth, hair stinging at his cheeks, but still, there was no green eyed man. His heart thumped painfully in his chest and his breath burnt in his throat. What the _fuck_ was that?

Matthew was just about to put it aside as a hallucination and go home when he felt a cool fan of air brush across his cheek, little puffs of the same chill breeze touching his other cheek, his nose, his forehead, his lips. The same laughter he heard before – the laughter he had assumed was children playing in the creek a little way further along around the bend – caressed his ear like the rustle of leaves high above.

"_The mushrooms, pretty boy_," a laughing voice murmured and another puff of cool air touched him, trailing from his shoulder to his hand and settling there. Being called a boy wrenched an indignant reply from his petrified lips,

"I am not a boy!" it was meant to sound angry, but his voice was too breathy with fear.

"_The mushrooms, beautiful man_," the voice prompted again, a vague note of placating amusement in its tone, "_Won't you pick a mushroom_?" Looking around in panic, Matthew crawled back to the ring of mushrooms, not even entirely sure why he was doing as the voice bid. It was just such a pleasant sound. Calm and timeless like the crackle of dried leaves underfoot and their sighing above.

Slowly he reached out and plucked a fleshy parasol from its loamy moorings, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger to shake off the soil.

"There, I picked a mushroom," he proclaimed, voice slightly steadier. Something cool, and as gentle as the breath of wind from before, brushed against Matthew's neck at the same time as what felt like twigs caressed his spine.

"_Won't you look at me, lovely man_?" the voice asked again, and Matt turned slightly to see a pale head resting on his shoulder, pupil-less green eyes looking up at him from beneath bark-dark brows. There was a faint smile on the man's sharp face. High cheekbones, angled lips, a pointed chin and ears. A long, thin hand came into the Canadian's line of vision. Its fingers were too long, too thin and too pale. They looked like sticks, and they felt like sticks as they gently touched Matthew's cheek.

"_Sit in the circle with me, handsome man?_" the pale man asked, slender fingers wrapping around the teenager's wrist and pulling him toward the ring. Though the fingers felt brittle as twigs, there was a force to their grip that Matthew bemusedly gave in to, allowing himself to be tugged into the circle to sit beside the ethereal, pointed man.

Taking the mushroom from the Canuck's unresisting fingers, the fey broke a piece off of the cap and held it up to the other's lips insistently, "_Won't you eat some, gorgeous man_?" he asked, a warm smile on his face. Matthew, entranced by the welcoming green of the other's eyes nodded, obediently opening his mouth so that those thin fingers could press the earthy fungus to his tongue. The faery continued, picking crumbs of mushroom cap with his slender fingers and feeding them to the bewitched Matthew until the mushroom was gone and the teenager's lips were cold and blue.

Leaning over the prone figure so that their chests touched, Arthur combed his fingers through the Canadian's blond hair, smiling gently as he crooned,

"_Won't you stay with me, pretty boy?_"


End file.
